Sometimes
by Music-Is-Life-88
Summary: Sometimes Mark wants out. His friends dying all around him, sometimes he just wants to leave and meet a nice normal girl and normal friends with a normal, disease free life. What happens when he's caught? One-Shot Mark-centric. Mark/Collins FRIENDSHIP


"No Meemz, I can't let you do this, to yourself, to us; all of us!" Mark walked into their cold loft and found his best friend Roger Davis and his girlfriend having another fight. Roger had stood up and was yelling at a crying Mimi Marquez on the couch, and his face had a worried expression. The white powder that was spilled on the floor at their feet made it obvious what the fight was about; Mimi had been using again. Mark sighed and hung back at the door knowing very well to let the scene play out until the right moment.

_The movie perfect moment when the best friend of the protagonist comes in to save the day, just for a few scenes. And for those few scenes you realise that the friend seems like a much better person; they're kind, generous, and you want to watch a movie about __them__; but all that's forgotten when the best friend shrinks back into the shadows and then you're hypnotized by the eternal love the main characters have for each other. Something the supporting actor just never gets._

Mimi stood to meet her lover's gaze. "Roger I've tried, but it's too hard. I need it, I just need it, and you don't-"

He narrowed his eyes and brought his eyebrows together. The room was silent as the unfinished statement hung in air. "I do know. I know and it was hell, Mark was always there for me!" He motioned to his best friend in the doorway. "And I tried to help you! I tried Mimi, I really did! Did everything I could but you took it for granted. Again."

"Roger…"

"No, we're done." Time to step in, Mark thought. He walked quickly to follow Roger into his room. He stopped though and grabbed Mimi, just held his sobbing friend who almost collapsed on the floor.

"Just stay here a minute. He doesn't mean it Mimi, he loves you."

She nodded and sniffed. "I know Mark, but I still shouldn't have- I just felt so bad and all I could think of was the drug." She sat on the couch and nervously played with a strand of brown hair.

Mark nodded and rubbed her back. "Just let me talk to him, okay?" She nodded again slowly, leaving her head hanging down. The sleeves on her skin tight blue shirt were stained with tears and her black skirt had little traces of the deadly power on it. "Maybe you should clean up." He offered, motioning to the bathroom, which may as well have been a closet with a toilet and shower.

Mimi smiled weakly at him. "Sure, just please go talk to him." Mark offered a strained smile in return and walked to Roger's room.

Opening the creaky wooden door, the room was small. The size of two bathrooms; that's what everyone joked about, using their bathroom as a unit of measure. Mark chuckled while shutting the door behind him. "What the hell is so funny Cohen?" Roger growled from his seated position on the bed. His legs were apart and he had his elbows on them, head in hands. His blonde hair fell like a drape to cover his face, Mark had not doubts his green eyes were red from tears. "She's using again Mark. I can't fucking believe it. After all I did for her, and she's huffing it up behind a dumpster in the alley across from the Cat Scratch. How could she do this to me?"

"You know Roger," Mark started, leaning on the wall across from Roger "she's just having a hard time. Remember what you were like at the beginning?" Roger remand silent. "How many times you told me you were really going to quit, but then Collins or I saw you loading up right here? This is hard for her Roger; I was there for you, now you need to be there for her. That's what commitment is about."

"What would you know about commitment? The only girlfriend you ever had turned out to be a lesbian."

Mark struggled to make his next words come out. "She's bisexual actually but that's not the point. Roger, hard as it is to believe, this isn't about you. This is about her going through a hell you experienced firsthand."

"Mark, she's knows about April, how could she even think about throwing her life away? I don't know if I could survive if someone else walked out on me, left me alone."

"Damn it Davis…" Mark mumbled under his breath, the water in his eyes was rising. Roger didn't know what he was talking about. "This. Is not. About you." He placed his hands firmly on Roger's shoulders forcing him to look up at him. "Now, if you love her as much as you say you do, you'd go out there and make things right." Roger nodded and smiled. He took Mark's offered hand to help him up and clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Hey Mark, I owe you one." And with that, he left the room to get back the only light in his life.

Mark, however, stayed in the room. _"What would you know about commitment? The only girlfriend you ever had turned out to be a lesbian."_ It was true, his love life was nonexistent. As for his career, Buzzline, it was just what his parents wanted it to be: a way to pay the bills, not what he wanted: being paid to do what you love. His family was like any traditional Jewish one, tight knit and coming over for Sabbath dinner with your wife or husband and children; and since Mark didn't have the requirements for dinner down, he didn't go. Not to mention the phone calls every week from his Mom trying to set him up with a woman who was either recently widowed or divorced or his Dad who called to complain about how he's not married, has no kids, and that it's his fault his mother's upset all the time.

No dad, that's menopause.

If there was one aspect about his life that was fruitful, he'd have no choice but to say friends. He had those, five, not counting the late Angel which would upset Collins if he ever found out. But when it came to friends, he was the rock, not the funny one or the smart one or (definitely) not the crazy one. When something broke, it was his job to fix it, to be the glue that held their group together as they disappeared one by one.

Sometimes, that made Mark happy, feel special. He had his place in his group of friends and knew he could never be replaced; he was needed. But, sometimes, Mark wanted to run, because he knows that the longer he stays, more likely it'll be that he'll never be able to replace them. Sometimes he just wants out. His friends dying all around him, sometimes he just wants to leave and meet a nice normal girl and normal friends with a normal disease free life, but he can't. He can't do that because that **one** selfish act, the **one** thing he finally does for himself, would make him a monster, and he didn't want that. If he left, he didn't want the last memory of his friends their hurt faces, their broken hearts. _ I don't know if I could survive if someone else walked out on me, left me alone."_

Mark finally walked out to the main room and saw Mimi sitting on Roger's lap, giggling like a happy child. Maureen and Joanne got here apparently and were laughing along with them. Roger shouted something and threw his shoe threw the door leading to Collins' bedroom. Ever since Angel passed away, Collins moved back in, space wasn't that tight since Roger was up with Mimi most of the time. Collins threw the shoe back out and hit Roger square in the face and slammed the door yelling back that he was getting changed. Everyone burst out laughing again until Roger saw Mark. "Hey buddy, we're thinking of going out to eat. Want to come?"

"No, it' ok. I'm not hungry."

Mimi tilted her head and looked at the thin cameraman. "Mark, are you crying?"

He blinked a few times before realizing the tears that streaked his face. He never even noticed. He shook his head and wiped them away. "Oh, no, allergies."

"Mark, it's ok. Roger and I made up, we're ok." Mark never in his life had to use so much force just for a smile as he looked at Mimi reassuringly before going into his own room.

Throwing the cheap and tearing suitcase on his bed, he began stuffing as many cloths in as he could, which worked fine since he didn't have much. This is what he wanted; it was perfect, movie perfect. He wanted to leave with the memory of his happy friends, alive, he had that. They were going out and then he'd leave too, leave knowing they were fine. His clothes were packed, a few films that he actually liked (wrapped carefully in his favourite sweater was Proof Positive), and lastly a few scripts he also was proud of and couldn't throw away. Two involved Angel, one of those was co-written by her. The last one was suggested and inspired by April who wanted to make Roger the perfect anniversary gift and came to Mark for help. It would have been 1 year until she had killed herself. Mark was sure he approved of his packing and closed the lid gently. He heard the sound of feet on the floor as the rest of the bohos made their way out. Mark took his glasses off and wiped the tears from his eyes which were gushing down like a waterfall.

Over his broken breathing, he heard his broken door open. "Hey lil' albino pumpkin head, Roger said you didn't want to come with us so I came in here to set your ass-" Collins saw the scene in front of him. Mark, suitcase, crying. "What the hell?" he spoke softly, gently like if he spoke quietly, it wouldn't be real.

Mark sniffed. "I-I can't do it Collins. I can't stand being around you all. You're all happy, making the best of things because any day could be your last, well what about me, huh? I'm worry about all of you; you're all worrying about each other but what about me? You're going to die, Collins, and that kills me. Someday, you and Roger and Mimi will leave and I'll be alone. I don't want to be stuck being the old single guy that always hangs around with the lesbian couple! I want a life, I want a happy, healthy life and- and I can't do that when I'm here caring about you guys." Collins walked forward and held Mark, held him like a small child because that's what he was at the moment. A small child, confused and angry.

"Mark, I'm sorry man."

"How can you be sorry, you didn't do anything! It's not your fault you're going to die."

"Then I don't know what you want me to say man."

Mark stared at him and became angry. Why wasn't he upset? The night Mark found out his friends had AIDS he cried himself to sleep. "I have to leave, leave and then you'll be upset. I'm not joking Collins, I-I'm not…"

"Why do you want me to be upset?"

"B-because… because… I don't. Fuck, Collins, I don't. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just- Roger and Mimi had another fight that I had to clean up and-"

Collins chuckled softly. "What's with all the self-pity?"

"If I didn't then no one else would." He mumbled his reply. Looking up at his friend he put on the first real smile he had all day. "I'm sorry, I'll unpack and maybe we can meet up with the others. I was wrong before." Mark didn't mean that last part, but that what they say in the movies, the one who apologises is always wrong, and he had to have been.

"No, you're not." Mark stared at his friend shocked. Collins face was neutral, but silently grieving. Mark failed to recall if this was because of now or if it's been that way since Angel died. Mark started to question him but Collins continued. "One day, we're going to die and you'll be left alone to fend for your white ass out in the big bad world, but it doesn't have to be forever. What's stopping you from meeting new people? I'm sure some of the people you filmed without them knowing would have some things to say to you."

Mark tried to laugh at Collins, laugh to make himself feel better; to make the room brighter, but it came out as a wheeze. "When you die, I won't be able to replace you guys." Collins smacked his back and Mark yelled out. "Ow! What the hell?"

"You idiot, you don't have to replace us. Are you telling me you're only capable of having six friends at a time?" Mark shook his head and thought about it.

"But it wouldn't feel right, like I'd be forgetting you, betraying you."

"Stop being so dramatic pumpkin head, you don't need to forget us, or replace us." Collins took Marks shoulders and made him face him much the same as Mark did to Roger earlier. "Promise. Promise that when we die, you'll go out, continue to live your life. Meet some new friends, get a girl, although I'd like to still be around for the girl part. Don't pull a Roger on us Cohen, I guarantee everyone would feel the same way. Promise me." Mark hesitated and mumbled 'I promise.' Collins shook his head. "No, promise me on your scarf, camera and sighed autobiography of Spike Lee."

Mark started to talk, but instead chuckled. His chuckles turned to laughter, growing louder and louder. Collins joined in and soon the two were just laughing on the bed. "I-I promise." Mark finally responded when he calmed down. "I do, promise that is. Can you help me unpack so we can meet up with everyone else?"

Collins looked in Mark's suitcase and threw him his camera. Mark shrieked and caught it clumsily. "Unpack what? You got your camera, let's go." Collins put arms around Mark's shoulders playfully and led them out the door.

Sometimes Mark wants out. His friends dying all around him, sometimes he just wants to leave and meet a nice normal girl and normal friends with a normal disease free life.  
>But he can't, he can't because right now they need him, and even when they're gone they'll always be there to watch over him, he doesn't have to<br>forget  
>to<br>move on.

"And how the _hell_ could you possibly forget us? Seriously man, you got an angst-y ex-junkie guitarist with AIDS, and ex-druggie S&M dancer with AIDS, lesbian African American lawyer who is going out with your bisexual performing artist ex-girlfriend, then a gay drumming drag queen and finally the most handsome man on the planet." Collins said proudly at the end, puffing his chest out. "And replacing us? Please… don't get me started."

**A/N:** I know it needs improvement, so if you could leave suggestions in the review section, I'd love you!


End file.
